


Lifeblood

by Himboskywalker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Force Sex (Star Wars), M/M, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Ritual Public Sex, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, force ritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24747358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Himboskywalker/pseuds/Himboskywalker
Summary: The ancient people of the Zeffo contact the Jedi in a cry for help,they need force users who can connect to the living force,who can save something dear to them.But the price of life is itself something dear,and one Obi-Wan is not sure they can pay.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 30
Kudos: 696





	Lifeblood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DreamingMoonlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingMoonlight/gifts).



> Written for the prompt by Lumi over at [Gffa](https://gffa.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> "...public fucking for a force ritual on some planet with force-based culture for reasons and Anakin's like,sure,whatever,I can handle getting railed by you AND the force at the same time,it'll be fine. (Narrator voice:It was not fine.Feelings spilled out EVERYWHERE.)
> 
> Hope your week gets better my dear,this prompt got entirely away from me and turned into nothing but tooth rotting mush,so enjoy a sprinkling of porn in this cavity causing ridiculousness.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, “it is a great honor that the Council chose us.”

Anakin looked up from where he rummaged through his pack on his bed mat, nervously rifling through spare tunics and pants for want of anything else to do with his restless hands. “I know, master, I just—doesn’t it make you nervous?”

“That these people who call themselves Zeffonians might have ulterior motives and still be under the control of the Dark Side after their culture fell?”

Anakin slid him a flat look and finally sat on his unrolled mat, woven from some pale lilac grass, and laid out across the dirt floor. From the open windows of the stone building they were given to sleep in, a cool breeze that carried the scents of fresh water and humidity sweetened by green growing things drifted in to caress the back of his sweaty neck with a light kiss.

“Yes,” he said, voice full of annoyance, “master the Council knows the Zeffonians have been long extinct, or at least long turned to the Dark Side. Why would they trust these people? Why would they send us, when this very well may be a trap for the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan muttered something unintelligible under his breath and sat on his own unrolled mat, legs crossed in some facsimile of his usual mediation pose. “I understand your hesitancy, padawan, but the Council would not send us into a dire situation out of idle curiosities. They were given enough proof to trust these Zeffonians, or people who have taken up the mantle of the ancient Zeffo culture. But we could not ignore their outstretched hand and offer for ancient force knowledge.”

The breeze drifting through the open window picked up and he took a deep breath of it, cool and sweet and soothing in some unnamable way. He needed whatever comfort given to him since they landed on Zeffo, with all its damp and humid green, all of its ancient temples half crumbled and nestled between waterfalls and forests older than the Jedi temple on Coruscant.

This place felt inconceivably old—ancient and wild and brimming so strongly with the force it made him feel as if something were slithering up and down his spine. The very air felt alive with it, electric and brimming with the living force. It filled his lungs, his veins, oxygenated the cells in the meat of his muscles and the marrow of his bones till he felt like a buzzing conduit for the very atmosphere around him. It left him antsy-unmoored-and picking at his fingernails where he sat on the floor.

Obi-Wan didn’t seem to be nearly as bothered by the hazy force static, or at least he hid it much better than Anakin, he could never tell with his master. Instead he sat serene and placid, face smooth and tranquil under the suntanned lines around his eyes and the copper shadow of his beard. It only made him itch to look at him and so he sighed and cast his eyes aside, still brimming with unease and energy and worry.

The sun still sat low in the morning sky, pink hued and below its full zenith and precipice of heat when a Zeffonian-or supposed Zeffonian, came to retrieve them. The Zeffonian stooped in the doorway, twice the height of any full-blooded human. Pink fleshed and dressed in brown robes, it ducked its wide head at them, blinking jade, pupil-less eyes and golden baubles and trinkets swaying from its downturned ears.

“Please—our honored Jedi—if you will follow me.”

They both stood from their grass mats and followed their host into the brisk air. They wound through the forest, past trickling brooks, and the ruins of once magnificent and revered temples. Even still, this place bled with the lifeblood of the force, the ancient places of power still leaking thousands of years of rituals and sacred things-sacred peoples.

But amongst the craggy mountains and under the canopy of trees that stood taller than any skyscraper from Coruscant, nestled a long-forgotten place. It practically wavered like a mirage, oozing power into the force like an un-stoppered ship leak. It looked innocuous enough, round and made of stone, hidden amongst the roots of trees that brimmed with even more life than the force nexus before them.

They stepped inside of the temple to a large circular room filled with raised daises, where a circle of Zeffonians sat, all seemingly vacant eyed and still, with their large, variscite eyes.

“Welcome Jedi—long have the Zeffo awaited a new concordance with your people in the Life Wind. We greet you here in peace and harmony.”

Anakin ducked his head like Obi-Wan instructed him, mindful of the power swimming through the room like an untampered wave and of the powerful force beings who towered around them.

“And we are ever so humbled that you allowed us here—though I must admit, we Jedi are confused as to why the Zeffo, who we long thought an extinct species and culture, brought us here now,” said his master.

He glanced up to meet jade eyes and when the Zeffo spoke he heard it both aloud and inside his head, the words somehow slipping past his mental walls as if they were made of shimmersilk or nothing at all.

“The Zeffo never died, Jedi. Our ancient leader Kujit and the corruption of power may have nearly led to our extinction in the elder days, but our people found peace in the Life Wind and still we remain. No longer do we seek power and dogma—merely a deeper knowledge—a better understanding of its truth.”

Obi-Wan didn’t have to squint for Anakin to feel his polite disbelief, it threaded through their bond, featherlight but distinct in the warmth that colored every stray thought of his master’s.

“We are glad to hear of it, but I’m afraid this still does not explain why the Zeffo needed two Jedi to come here in this time of crisis in the galaxy.”

The temple sat nearly silent, except for the distant drip of water and the cool whistle of wind through the high windows. The Zeffo before them stared, unblinking and still before they nodded their head, golden slivers of metal tinkling around their head.

“A sacred place, we must first show you, before you can truly understand.”

They followed the Zeffonians out of the temple shrouded in murky shadows cast from the mossy canopy overhead to trail behind their long-robed figures through the winding maze of colossal roots that twined and arched higher than rooftops. Anakin pushed worry through their bond and Obi-Wan brushed a gentle steadiness against his own mind-calm-warm-affectionate-a touch exasperated. It was the warmth that always calmed him though, the vein of zircon that made his master’s thoughts taste like amber syrup and filled the crevices in his busted chest like honeyed wine, sweet and burning.

Deeper into the forest they went, where the light went shuttered out by the towering branches overhead and lazy trickles of water ran over mossy boulders and through the terraces and twining embraces of roots. The still humidity slicked their tunics to their skin, and he glanced over to see Obi-Wan’s hair darkened to auburn and flattened against his forehead. He hid a smile at the rare sight of unkemptness and deeper into the vibrant green they delved.

But then—amongst the lush and sticky life, through the twisting view of towering trunks and hanging mosses—rose a true giant. This tree, somehow larger, somehow older, stood out amongst the others with its silvery white bark and the mountain of its roots that seemed to form its own city into the earth. Its branches seemed to stretch for an eternity, shivering emerald and bronzed where they reached the sunlight far far above. It felt—more than alive—brimming with the force, knowing and feeling and breathing.

His master looked utterly stricken as they neared its roots. That power—all encompassing energy, it thrummed like a stricken chord, shivering down his spine to settle in his bones as if he were an instrument being plucked.

“This is a wroshyr tree,” Obi-Wan said with wonder. 

The Zeffo turned to them with their jade unblinking eyes. “It is a white wroshyr, the last of its kind.”

His master somehow went even more dumbstruck and Anakin brushed his fingertips against the silvery flesh of its nearest root. He swallowed around a shriek as something—beyond the comprehension of big—seemed to fill his mind till he was made of nothing but the feeling of air, of earth and water and life.

 _Hello little one._ It laughed in his mind. He snatched his hand back and stumbled from the speed that he stepped back, pushing his shoulder against Obi-Wan’s to steady himself.

“That is impossible,” his master said, “the white wroshyrs went extinct millennia ago, even on Kashyyyk.”

“Mmm—all but one, all but our origin tree, our centering heartbeat in the Life Wind.”

Obi-Wan reached a reverent hand out, skating fingertips against the tree’s bark and his eyes filled with light at whatever presence, whatever words were spoken in his mind. His lids fell shut and he hummed, letting his hand settle further against silver veined bark.

“Ahh,” he said, pulling his hand away, “I see. She is terribly old and growing weak.”

The Zeffo nodded. “Weak by our own making, I am afraid. Our heartbeat went without those with Life Wind for so long during our absence. And now, after so long away and kept to the Outer reaches, we have forgotten how to connect with the present—the heartbeat of the Life Wind.”

Anakin turned his attention back to the roots, which pulsed with energy and unseen life around them. His head practically swam from it, from the sharp sweetness of its smell in the air.

“They need force users who can connect to the living force,” he muttered to Obi-Wan.

“Yes, I see, but what could we possibly do for your origin tree that the Zeffo cannot? My padawan and I are not enough to revive your origin tree. I’m not sure that our entire Council put together could.”

“You can feel the heartbeat of the Life Wind as we cannot,” said the Zeffo. “You can _give_ life to our heartbeat as we cannot, create life energy.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed in befuddlement and he inclined his head to Anakin. “What do you make of that, giving life energy?”

Anakin shrugged and against his better judgement, reached his hand back out to trail fingers against cool bark.

 _Little one,_ it said lovingly. Though his master was right, though the voice felt colossal and all encompassing, it also felt warm—familiar—motherly.

 _Hello,_ he answered back.

_I have felt you before, from far—far away, little one, you are strong._

_My master and I came to help you. But I’m afraid we do not know how._

_Oh—little one,_ she said, voice going warm as sunlight. _All I require is a droplet of life._

_Of life how? Of our force energy, of blood, what?_

She laughed, somehow throaty and deep in the space of his own head, like the creaking of branches and the sigh of a hot afternoon wind against sun scorched leaves. _A touch of what your kind the Jedi call the force. A touch of the Life Wind and a touch of two becoming one—of life energy, little one. I am birthed from a seedling and life is birthed from me and so seed must be birthed from you._

His hand fell away from the tree with a jolt of blindsided shock just as he heard his master say, voice slanted rounded and high, “we must do _what?_ ”

They blinked at one another and in a tilted over daze of disbelief he found them returned to their little stone hut with the sun high in the sky. The Zeffonians stared at them with their large jade eyes and Obi-Wan cleared his throat.

“We do need some time to discuss this you see, what you are asking of us it quite—unusual in our culture.”

“You may discuss all you like, but we have little time, Jedi. The ritual of giving lifeblood to our heartbeat gives full energy under a blood moon at its peak. If you and your padawan do not agree to connect with our heartbeat in the Life Wind tonight you will condemn her to death. There are few of our people with the Life Wind in them to become sages. And those of us who do feel the Life Wind do not feel its power of the present to give life to our heartbeat as you do. You are her only hope, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

Anakin swallowed thickly as he turned into their hut and the Zeffos departed from their doorway. When his master entered behind him the air felt suddenly stifling and uncomfortable beyond measure. “So I take it I didn’t misconstrue what the tree told me,” he said, attempting to be funny but only sounding as awkward as he felt.

Obi-Wan sighed deeply and drug his hand across his face, looking ever the part of long-suffering master and world-weary Jedi. “I’m afraid not.” He turned away from Anakin then to look out the window, his hand still stroking his beard in thought. “Did you know the wroshyr trees only grow on Kashyyyk and live for fifty-thousand years?”

“They would have to with how big they are, how tall do you think the origin tree is?”

“Several kilometers at least.” He shook his head, “a white wroshyr, incredible, utterly incredible. They were thought to have been instinct for several millennia, they are sentient you see, full of midichlorians and force sensitive. She is the last of her kind and near her end without communing with other force sensitives for so long. The white wroshyrs fed off the living force, they had to, being so large and consuming so much energy.”

“Master,” he said hesitantly, “how could us—uhh—giving our life energy, possibly be enough to sustain something so big?”

Obi-Wan turned away from the window, looking tired and drawn. “I imagine it has to do with a combination of the blood moon and the closeness of the force nexus under the ancient temple. I imagine they requested me—mostly because it would bring you too, since you are so powerful in the living force.”

His stomach turned over with sick nerves and he felt sweat prickle at his already clammy neck. “Master—are we—are we going to do it?”

Obi-Wan’s expression went even more pensive as he looked at him, his expression unreadable save for the tension bringing out the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. “I will do whatever I can to save the Zeffo’s origin tree. I cannot in good will let such a thing die if I have anything to offer, but I would never ask such a thing of you, my padawan, certainly not with me.”

He felt like a ruffled bird then, indignant, and bashful and flustered all in one. “So you’re allowed to be a good self-sacrificing Jedi and I’m not!”

“No, Anakin—that is not what I—”

“Would it be such a horrible thing, to do this ritual with me so we can save her?”

Obi-Wan sighed again and rubbed at his eyes then. “You are taking this to heart when you should not, my padawan. You are eighteen—I am your _master,_ for force’s sake. It is not—right that we should—”

“Are we not meant to put aside our own selfishness for the greater good, is that not the very purpose of being Jedi, master?”

“Anakin,” he said in that tone, “me not wishing to—to have sex with my eighteen-year-old padawan who is—in a vulnerable position under my care is not a selfish want. I could not—do that to you, Anakin.”

“Master, putting my comfort before saving a life…that is selfish isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan blinked at him and then made a pained face. “I could not, padawan.”

Anger sparked deep in his gut then, that his master was taking his own choice away as if he were a child, that he did not trust him to have his own authority of what he did with his body, of what he could sacrifice and give for others. He felt small then, small and rendered young and childish before the eyes of the man who meant so much to him.

“Am I not a man, with my own say of my own choices, master?”

Obi-Wan’s expression went even more pinched then. “Yes, but think of what you are offering, padawan, _think_ of the repercussions.”

“I am thinking,” he said slowly, as if Obi-Wan were being utterly ridiculous, because he _was._ “That it wouldn’t be so hard to have sex with the person I trust most in the world, in order to save something like this white wroshyr tree that you’re talking about like it’s something beyond precious.”

His master stepped up to him then and cupped his face between his palms with an intent expression. “ _You_ are precious, my padawan, and I could not bear it if this were to—if this—”

“Obi-Wan,” he said with exasperation, “please stop acting like this would be some horrible and traumatizing thing to happen to me. I trust you, master.”

Obi-Wan frowned, still holding Anakin’s face between his sweaty palms. He peered at him, the blue of his eyes sharp and intense in the dim lighting within the hut. “You’re absolutely sure, Anakin?”

He swallowed, tongue thick and heavy in his suddenly dry mouth. “Yes, master.”

Obi-Wan let his face go and sighed again. “And you can do this without attachment, without our master and padawan bond getting in the way?”

He tossed Obi-Wan an offended expression that spoke of all he thought of that question while internally his insides squirmed with discomfort. Could he put it aside, his attachment to his master, his embarrassing—want, that had made itself known in the past year? He could, he told himself. It was just sex, horribly awkward and potentially permanently scarring sex.

“Best we get some sleep while we can then,” Obi-Wan said, sounding half strangled and wishing he were anywhere but there, “if the ritual is to take place when the moon is high.”

The group of robed Zeffo sages looked at them with their jade, unblinking eyes, trinkets of gold swaying from all their heads like windchimes in the evening breeze.

“Have the Jedi come to a decision?”

“We have,” said Obi-Wan, “we will do our best to give our lifeblood and save your heartbeat.”

“Then come with us, we will prepare the Jedi for your ritual.”

They led them back to the temple, now shrouded in darkness by the evening’s deep shadows cast even darker under the dense forest and its thick canopy. From a stone basin the Zeffo poured two bowls of iridescent gold liquid and placed them in their hands.

“From the heartbeat’s sap and made from ground meryx that also comes from our mother, it will open you to the Life Wind, make giving your energy easier.”

It went down smooth and sweet as honey and tasted like liquid sunshine and spun gold, filling him with the distant memories of shimmering in his leaves and nutrients dug up through the earth. It made him feel terribly old, older than anything and rooted to the ground by something far stronger than his boots.

As they walked through the forest back to the white wroshyr tree, the forest lit up like a Coruscant night sky, the leaves of the forest glowing with their own internal light.

Obi-Wan smiled in the ghostly light beside him, pale eyes cast luminous and otherworldly. “I did not realize the forests of Zeffo were bioluminescent.”

“Only this one, because of the heartbeat,” said the Zeffo over their shoulder in front of them.

He wanted to enjoy the beauty of the glowing forest around them like his master, but all he could concentrate on was how tight and nauseous his stomach felt, how turned over with nerves and apprehension he felt. He knew Obi-Wan would be nothing but gentle, nothing but kind and patient and loving, as he was in all things. It was not the actions of his master he feared—but his own wants, his own worry that his feelings might betray him in the night to come.

They reached the white wroshyr tree and were met by a sea of Zeffo crowded around its roots, which glowed as pale and silvery as the moon and shimmered like starlight. The Zeffo, all swathed in dark robes, sat silent with bowed heads, hidden amongst the shadows beneath the colossal tree’s glowing bark. They trailed through the silent crowd, till they came to a rise, a natural raised outcropping amongst the tangled city of roots.

The Zeffo opened their hand to the dais and said, “here you will give your lifeblood, before our sages and people, directly to the source of our heartbeat, the energy of your Life Wind gifted to the mouth of our mother.”

Anakin swallowed, feeling like a Star Destroyer had somehow settled in his stomach for how weighed down and filled with shocky fire up the back of his throat he felt. Obi-Wan stepped up through the roots first, onto the raised dais and Anakin followed him, weak kneed and feeling the thrum of tantamount energy around him. They looked at one another in the oddly cast light, all deep shadows and pale, luminous highlights.

 _My children,_ that loving voice filled his mind. _Sit with me and let me feel the life within you._

They sat, or Obi-Wan sat with his legs crossed and Anakin kneeled, to nervous and fluttery to do anything but crouch as if ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. Obi-Wan put a warm and gentle hand on his shoulder, pulling him further down so that he folded his legs to the side, sitting pressed against his master in the cool night air and feeling like the whole world was turned upside down under the bioluminescent glow.

Obi-Wan slid his hand down to grip Anakin’s forearm through the linen of his rough outer tunic and he nearly jumped out of his skin at the change in pressure against his skin. He pressed his anxiety through their bond, his tumbled over nerves that felt like a speeder spiraling in his stomach. His master met it with warmth-always warmth, and he slid his hand down Anakin’s arms to gently grip his hand in his.

He had never imagined his master holding his hand, it felt beyond strange, embarrassing even, and it made a frisson of flustered bashfulness wriggle through him. Obi-Wan squeezed his fingers, smoothing his honeyed wine thoughts and reassurances against his own turbulent mind.

He looked out over their dais of roots to the sea of Zeffo watching them under the tree’s glow, all of their large, jade eyes glinting unblinking and glimmering like precious stones in the ethereal light. It made his stomach roll with more nerves, noticing all of those eyes on them, watching silently as he felt the energy of the white wroshyr tree creep up from the roots under them to seep into his veins. It lit his blood aflame and he felt certain for a confused moment, that they must be glowing with bioluminescent light just like the plants and trees around them. He surely had to be inner lit with how effervescent he felt, un-stoppered and brimming with warm energy.

_My children, you are both so full of the Life Wind,_ she sighed, like the whisper of air against leaves. _Lend me your lifeblood, little ones. Plant your seed that I might take root from it._

Anakin shuddered under the weight of her thoughts, under the crushing press of the words’ implications.

And then—

a light pressure at his jaw, an impression of fingertips against his cheek and Obi-Wan tilted his face so that he looked into the fiery labradorite of his master’s eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

Anakin parted his lips and took a shallow breath, hyperaware of the animal quick rise and fall of his chest, of the jagged zips of electric heat channeling through his veins, of the thousands of eyes on them.

“Yes,” he gasped as Obi-Wan gently pressed their mouths together in a tilted chin kiss. His brain went hot and hazy and everything in the world narrowed down to the light impression of lips against his and the still, gentle feel of his master’s fingers against his jaw. He tasted like the sweet sap of the tree and the liquid sunshine from the bowls they drank from. Even over the scent of green and life that saturated the Zeffo air, Obi-Wan’s familiar and musky scent washed around them, as steadying as the stars’ alignments.

He made a noise in the back of his throat and Obi-Wan pulled back, their lips slow to part and sticky from the press of dry skin against dry skin.

“Are you alright, padawan?” Obi-Wan asked.

He swallowed tightly and shoved down the surge of force energy churning up his veins, brewing like an imminent storm on the horizon.

“Yes,” he whispered, afraid of what was written across his unguarded features. He could do this, he told himself, he could handle the immense and shaking power of the force building up in his cells like a bomb, he could handle the press of his master’s skin against his. He could do this without his attachment leading him astray, without his affections complicating what was supposed to be a selfless act to preserve life.

Fondness washed over his master’s face then, so that it creased the corners of his eyes and made the labradorite of his eyes dance like the fire of an opal. He reached his hand up to caress his thumb against Anakin’s bottom lip. “How would you like to do this?”

More apprehension rose up his throat as he glanced to the silent throng of dark robed figures watching them, watching his master press his fingers and mouth against his lips. He shuddered then and closed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he said pained, “I’ve never—I need you to lead me, master.”

Obi-Wan teasingly tugged his padawan braid and Anakin’s eyes fluttered open to catch his smile, cast strange in the stark shadows under the wroshyr tree.

_Use my own blood, little ones, to guide your way. An exchange of lifeblood for lifeblood._

The root closest to them shifted and swelled and then fissures broke its silvery flesh open for white tree sap to bleed from the cracked wounds. It smelled sweeter than spun sugar and glowed with its own faint luminance, like diamonds ground to dust.

Obi-Wan drug his fingers through it with a thoughtful expression and then grinned impish for a moment as he swiped the glowing, sticky sap across Anakin’s cheek. He huffed and rubbed at it, vaguely repulsed by how viscous and slimy it felt under his touch. But it still smelled sweet and he licked his fingers curiously.

He groaned, startlingly loud in the silence except for the wind and Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows at the sound.

“It tastes like candy,” he moaned around his fingers, as heat slit down his throat to settle in his belly, as if he sipped wine from his hands instead of tree sap. Some strange expression flickered across Obi-Wan’s face then and he drug his fingers along the tree’s root, gathering up more luminous sap.

“Here,” he said, and pressed his fingers to Anakin’s mouth. Too stunned to do anything else, he parted his lips around his master’s fingers and sucked the sticky sap from them. His eyes fluttered, heavy, and dazed as he fought the moan crawling up his throat. A new heat settled in his gut then, sharper, and far more terrifying than any heat from the living force or ancient trees. His own lust was a much deeper and untampered thing that he found more frightening than any outside power.

His master’s fingers crooked in his mouth, curling against his tongue to catch against his cheek and he sighed, sucking against them and the remnants of sticky sap, feeling drunk or drugged or maybe hit upside the head.

“Is that good, padawan?”

He forced his eyes open to meet his master’s gaze, which was darkened and intent, even lit by all the glowing things around them. He let those fingers slip from his mouth as he whispered, embarrassment settling beside the heat in his gut, “yes, master.”

Without breaking his gaze Obi-Wan gathered up more of the glimmering sap and pressed his fingers back to Anakin’s lips, which felt painted with sticky sweetness. He sucked them back into his mouth with hollowed cheeks and fought the aching urge to take them in as deep as he could, so that he could feel fingertips hit the back of his throat. He had never done anything like this before and he didn’t know where the urge rose up from, maybe the holovids from the shadier channels, where young things with full mouths like him cried to suck cock and be bent in half from a hard fucking.

He didn’t know what getting fucked felt like, but he guessed he would be finding out tonight. The thought made more heat curl up inside him and he realized, as he fluttered open his lids to meet his master’s eyes while he sucked his sticky fingers deep into his mouth, that he was completely erect and throbbing in his pants. He flushed, blotchy and a little horrified with himself, but Obi-Wan only curled his fingers deeper against his tongue, pressing it down to the bottom of his mouth with a firm enough pressure that he salivated against it, spit pooling around where his lips weren’t quite sealed to dribble a little down his chin.

He made a noise at that, indignant that he had actual drool leaking out of his mouth, but his master only slipped his spit soaked fingers from his mouth to graze them down his neck, leaving a cold trail across his collarbone and the tendon of his throat.

“Still alright, Anakin?”

He swallowed down the whimper he wanted to give as a response. Now that he was aware of how hard he was in his pants, it took up as much of his attention as the zinging heat of the force curling up from the rooted ground to thread through the blood coursing in his veins.

“Yes, master, are you alright?”

Obi-Wan dimpled a soft smile and caressed his cheek, hand glowing from the remnants of sap and damp against his skin. “Of course, padawan, ready for more?”

He nodded, gripping onto his master’s shoulder as Obi-Wan pressed him back to lay against the knotted roots to stare up at the far distant glowing treetops. Obi-Wan stared at him intently where he braced himself on his arms above Anakin and then whispered where he pressed his lips to his jawbone, just under the curve of his ear. “I am going to open you up for me, Anakin.”

A jolt of shuddering want lanced through him at the feel of those words whispered against his skin and he throttled down a strained noise so that it came out as a breathless sigh. “Yes, master.”

Still holding that same intense eye contact, Obi-Wan reached down with one hand to push down his pants to his knees and then his undergarments after it. He blinked up at him, wide eyed and feeling bared to the entire world as his cock slipped from the hold of his clothes to press against his own flesh where his tunic was rucked up to his ribs.

Obi-Wan glanced down then as he dropped down between the frame of his legs, gently spreading his knees further apart. “You are doing wonderful, Anakin, move your legs just like that for me, dear one.”

His cock jerked against his stomach and the rapid rise and fall of his abdomen seemed so stark under the ghostly glow of the tree. Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered up at that, even as he ran a gentle hand up the inner span of his thigh. “Will that make it easier, help you?” His voiced deepened to a sultry curl as he purred against the tender, pale skin inside of his leg. “Do you want me to call you dear one?”

He shivered against the words pressed to his skin and jerked his eyes away from his master ducked between his splayed legs. But the other line of sight his eyes fell to when he tilted his head to the side was the thousands of jade eyes peering at them in the dim light. He winced and jerked his head back up, gazing into the treetops as he squirmed against the feeling of his master’s lips, his beard and fingertips drag against the inside of his thigh.

“I need you to stay relaxed for me, Anakin, just as you are now. I am going to put my mouth on you to make this easier, alright?”

He swallowed and ignored the feel of himself jerk and whispered into the night, “yes, alright.”

And then before the mother tree, before thousands of Zeffo and the force itself, his master licked a long stripe up the underside of his cock. He clenched his fists into the dirt underneath him and tried to ignore the swell of the force that welled up inside of him at the feel of his master’s mouth on him. But then he licked him again and then lowered the searing heat of his mouth over his cockhead and sucked it gently, just as he had sucked sap from Obi-Wan’s fingers.

He jolted, feeling electrocuted or zapped by some energy weapon, a crackle of heated frisson surging through him.

“ _Oh,_ ” he gasped open mouthed to the glimmering tree branches above them. That nuclear heat descended as Obi-Wan took him deeper into his mouth and reached out to gather up pearlescent sap between his fingers and dip them behind the cock in his mouth and where his palm pressed against his balls. There he pressed with sticky fingers, against the warm and inner seam of him.

“Ahh,” slipped from his mouth as the tendons in the backs of his legs tightened, his core clenching against a pressure and inner invasion he knew to come.

The honeyed wine of his master’s mind curled around him then, golden, and warming and full of nothing but reassurance and compassion. “Just relax for me, dear one—there we are—just like that—oh you are doing so good for me.”

Some frenetic and unhinged ball of want built in him at those words, at the praise caressing his skin better than the heat which had wrapped around his cock even. He squirmed against it, panting, and aching as his master pressed one slicked fingertip inside of him. It felt—strange, full in a way that made him clench against it, but his master continued to croon against him, in between the bobs of his head as he took him back into his mouth.

“So incredibly good for me, dear one,” he whispered, “you are doing incredible, padawan.”

He slipped his full finger inside of him, eased by pearlescent sap and Anakin clenching up around the pleasure of his master’s mouth on his cock and that dull—strange pressure behind his balls.

“There we are,” crooned Obi-Wan, “just…like…that—”

His hips tilted from the dirt as he shakily gasped, some deep and aching pleasure furling low in his core as Obi-Wan crooked his finger. “ _Ma—hhhster—_ ” he warbled unsurely, voice breaking in the middle.

Obi-Wan looked up from between his legs, lips bruised and eyes lambent before he smiled broadly, teeth gleaming in the phosphorescent light. “Right there?” He crooked his finger again and Anakin couldn’t answer, merely tilted his head back to swallow down an embarrassing keen.

Obi-Wan didn’t wait for an answer, merely continued to curl and uncurl his finger as he pressed in another beside it, stretching against his slicked rim and filling with a pressure he didn’t know if he could withstand. He panted and dug his fingernails into the soil, taking in the pulsing echo of energy around him, twining with his own heartbeat so that he felt like a live wire extension of the branches towering over them. He felt like he might explode with it, or that the raging tempest in his own head might undam to unleash a torrent of force power around them. He had never felt so out of control, so charged and ready to escape from the cage of his own flesh.

“Are you with me, padawan?”

“Yes,” he whispered, feeling like at any moment he might shatter apart like broken glass. Between the splayed vee of his legs his master pressed his fingers deeper, curling them with intent inside of him so that lances of pleasure arced up his spine and resonated where his cock throbbed against Obi-Wan’s tongue. He lapped at his head and sucked wetly at his crown so that he did keen then, urgent and alarmed as he tugged at copper hair.

“Master—I’m going to—”

That ancient and terrifying power rose up in him with that surge of pleasure, of heated—aching want drawing up in his balls from the ecstasy of where his master pressed his fingers inside of him and took him into his mouth.

That voice crooned, sighing across his heated and sweat prickled skin. _Gift me your lifeblood, little one, give unto the Life Wind what it has given you._

He shuddered and came onto his stomach, clenching around the pressure of fingers and moaning against the surge of the force inside of him. It too spilled from him, through the busted cracks in his shields and through the warm lit training bond with his master, where he could feel that his orgasm echoed in Obi-Wan’s own mind. That power buzzed in his ears and the whited-out blankness of his own mind.

He blinked, stunned, and then glanced down to Obi-Wan still splayed between his legs with his fingers in his ass. He realized with a faint laugh, that the come smeared across his stomach shimmered under the phosphorescent light with its own faint glow. From the tree sap he licked from his master’s fingers or the golden liquid the Zeffo gave them, he did not know where his own sudden bioluminescence came from.

Obi-Wan chuckled and pulled his fingers out from where he was still pressed inside of him to wipe the pearlescent come from his stomach and into the soil.

The wind sighed—or maybe crooned around them. _My little one who has given me your gift of the Life Wind, your beloved must also plant his seed and but a little more of your Life Wind given._

He shuddered against the mental press and looked to his master, feeling a new nervousness come over him. Obi-Wan sidled back up to kiss delicately at the underside of his jaw and push nothing but soothing—always soothing affection through their bond.

“Are you ready, dear one?”

He glanced to a multitude of jade eyes and scrunched his eyes shut, fighting to steady his breath and find balance somehow amongst the chaos of the force around them and the firestorm of his own thoughts clawing at his mind. “Yes, master,” he finally came to, and turned over on his hands and knees, with his pants bunched around them and his tunic still pushed to his ribs.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan muttered against his neck, rubbing a warm hand against the small of his back. “We do not need to do it like this, whatever way is most comfortable for you.”

“This is fine, master,” he whispered to the ground. He didn’t know how to say, please don’t make me look at you when you push inside of me, please I cannot meet your eyes when you fuck me. Obi-Wan paused and said nothing for a moment, then draped himself along his back and planted a barely felt kiss on the side of his neck.

“Alright then, open your legs for me, dear one.”

He shivered to hear those words and let his thighs fall further apart, bracing his weight to settle deeper in his hips as he flattened his palms in the soil.

“Very good, my padawan.”

He bit at the animal noise trying to make its way out of his mouth and settled further onto his elbows, letting his master take hold of his hips and gently sway them like that, tentatively rocking them in mimicry of Obi-Wan taking him right there in the dirt, before so many unblinking eyes.

He shouldn’t have been able to grow hard again so quickly, not when the remnants of pearlescent come on his own stomach hadn’t dried yet. And yet that rocking motion, that gentle instinctual play of the movement of fucking—it made want curl tight in his stomach and fill his cock all the same. It wasn’t just the implausible, aching need building back up in him, but that ever-present chorus of the force, its power and energy and unseen strength ratcheting his pulse higher.

It seeped up from the soil his hands were planted in, seeped from the luminous sap painted on his face and between his legs and maybe from inside his stomach too. It seeped from the bark and the leaves and the air suffusing his lungs till he felt drowned in it, suffused the tightly wound bond between he and his master behind him. It undulated and throbbed against his mind, in the same shocky push and pull of his master’s hips and he realized, gaping at the ground and trying not to moan like a cheap holovid, that it was easing in and out of his thoughts, his force energy, like his master would be doing to his body. It made his knees shake and a burning desire throb so deep in him he felt nauseous from it.

Obi-Wan reached out and gathered up more of that sweet sap and then, unlike the pacing of their every interaction up to this point, pushed his fingers back inside Anakin without any preamble, squelching the sap past his rim. He made a shocked noise and dropped his head to hang between his shoulders, letting his master fingerfuck him and the force throb in his mind with a dazed sense of disbelief.

“Tilt your hips back for me, dear one, I don’t want to hurt you.”

He did with a light shudder and braced his hands further apart, leaving behind a streaked indention in the dark soil. The sound of rustling echoed horribly loud in his ears as his master shoved down his own pants. He wondered if he would be hard enough to actually fuck him, wondered if putting his fingers in his eighteen-year-old padawan’s ass could ever be enticing enough to fill his cock and lure his interests. He wondered, with striking mortification, if getting his master to come was going to be a problem.

And then came the graze of Obi-Wan’s hands spreading his cheeks and he shuddered to think of the sight he made, bent over with his clothes pushed aside and luminous sap smeared across his ass. And then the blunt head of his master’s cock pressed against him and he did keen then, high, and breathy and spit from behind clenched teeth.

It hurt, it did, but felt wonderous too, that searing-pushing pressure. But mostly it made him ache to his bones because it was his master’s cock pushing inside him, stretching out the rim of his slicked ass and fitting into the space between his narrow hips. It dragged out forever, that slow push, between heartbeats that stretched an eternity with the gentle throb of the force inside of him.

When Obi-Wan pushed forward so that his hips settled fully against Anakin, the incredible weight and pressure of his cock filling him up inside, he felt that tantamount power in the force rise up again. When his master rocked his hips to fuck into him, he felt that power surge like a wave against a jagged cliff, and when his master snapped his hips to thrust his cock firm and unyielding back into him, he felt that power twist up like a pleased creature next to his own twisting pleasure, intertwined and woven as one great throbbing thing.

“ _Master,_ ” he gasped, and then winced at his own wanton voice.

But then his master laid against him fully and gasped a damp breath against his jaw while he rocked inside of him. “ _Anakin,_ ” he said in answer, voice silken and smoky where he lilted it against his skin.

The sound of it made his hips stutter and he arched, back bowing and ass pressing his master’s cock as deep as he could take it. They both groaned at that and the force somehow twisted tighter around them, strung taught like a pulled cable.

His master ran his hands up and down his sides as he rocked into him, a core deep pleasure building and building inside of him with every thrust, with every roiling curl of the force inside his mind.

“Master I—” he found himself slurring, shame faced and cheeks burning, “please—say it—say it again.”

Obi-Wan chuckled against his jaw as he bit at his ear, “what—my dear?—Or that you are being so terribly good for me?—That you are taking me so well, my love?”

He gritted out a shattered noise and wept precome down the aching underside of his bouncing cock. “Master,” he sobbed, “you feel—you feel so good.”

He made the mistake of lifting his head from where it hung between his braced shoulders and glanced to the side to take in the sea of Zeffo watching them rut like animals and he whimpered, trembling as some strange surging mix of horrified shame and toe curling pleasure washed over him.

“Oh dear one,” his master crooned as he trailed wet kisses up his neck, “you are doing so well, darling, you are taking it so well.”

It felt like too much all at once, too much pleasure squeezing his insides with ecstasy, too much of the force beating at his mind like a drum in time with the grind of their hips. He was so terribly glad he could screw his eyes shut and keep his head lowered to the ground, not staring into his master’s face with love written painfully clear across his features. So terribly glad he could turn his head and try to ignore the thousands of eyes watching him take his master’s cock on the dais.

It felt incredible, euphoric and terrible in its strength and he sobbed against the climbing feeling, the sense of his control spiraling away from him like a many armed galaxy, turning about in the blackness of the universe.

“Stay with me, Anakin, I can feel you panicking, my dear.”

He clenched his teeth in a silent snarl as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes to trail down his face. As the salty droplets dripped from his cheeks into the dirt, he saw that they too shimmered with their own glow, glimmering like starlight in the black soil.

“Ma—master,” he sobbed, his gut tightening dangerously around the dragging of Obi-Wan against his inner walls. And then from far away, as if he were listening to someone else entirely whimper the words aloud, he heard himself choke out, “master, I love you.”

He froze then, hips stilling and eyes flying open in horror, some cold feeling of terror trickling down his spine. But his master’s hips only lost their rhythm for a moment and then he knocked Anakin’s knees wider so that he pressed him down into the soil and kissed fervently at the skin he could reach along the back of his neck.

“Dear one, my beloved,” he chanted against him.

He felt his master come then, like a solar flare in the force, a surge of heat and pleasure and nirvana through their bond. It made the force rise up with energy, like a chorus of voices, a requiem to the life taken and given. It made him arch one final time and spill untouched into the soil, the pleasure wrenched almost unwilling from him, torn from somewhere so deep inside he did not know the end to it.

The rapturous crescendo of the force erupted into a haunting song of benediction, some tragically beautiful thing that stole the air from his lungs and made him feel knocked nearly unconscious to the ground. He shuddered through it, orgasming in spurts with shaking muscles, trembling like some creature newly birthed into the world.

He felt newly foaled, his soul ripped out and threaded with starlight before being shoved back inside him. They both trembled there before his master pulled gently out of him and he felt the warmth of his seed leak down his inner thighs to spill into the soil with his own.

 _Oh my children,_ came her warm, loving voice. _Thank you for your gift of lifeblood, and to you in return I gift a blessing on your love. May the Life Wind be with you, always._

The white wroshyr tree grew brighter than, practically blinding with its intensity and the Zeffo all around them took up a great wailing chant, worshipful and glorious.

Anakin rolled onto his back, there in the dirt and the glowing smears of their own come and Obi-Wan grabbed his face between his hands and kissed him with a fervency that made his head swim more than it already was.

“My dear,” he said between kisses, “my love.”

He drew back and Anakin let himself truly look into his master’s glimmering labradorite eyes, unafraid for the first time of what shown in his own.


End file.
